


barnstorming and other stories

by Boomkin



Series: Greg the Horse [4]
Category: British Actor RPF, The Witcher (TV) RPF
Genre: A Little Sacrifice, Adaptation, Anal Sex, Anya and Joey Being Gossipy, Blow Jobs, Demanding Joey, Detatchment, Ficlet Collection, Fluff and Smut, Head Injury, Henry Sucks at Feelings, Henry being a little shit, Henry's perspective, I Don't Even Know, Joey Being Anxious and Horny, Joey Has to Be the Adult Here, Joey is Always Horny, Joey is Horny, M/M, Making Love, Mentions of Essi Daven, Mini Mid-Life Crisis, Orgasm Delay/Denial, POV Third Person Limited, Pastoral (sort of), Secret Blow Job, Smoking, Song: Heat of the Moment (Asia), Tender Sex, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unlucky Joey, softe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:55:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26833297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boomkin/pseuds/Boomkin
Summary: A collection of Joey/Henry ficlets that correspond to my little Greg the Horse universe. I will post them here from time to time as I write them.
Relationships: Joey Batey/Henry Cavill
Series: Greg the Horse [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1866055
Comments: 25
Kudos: 51





	1. Barnstorming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joey and Henry are filming a scene from the short story "A Little Sacrifice" but Joey thinks it's _a lot_ of sacrifice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little fluff to cleanse the palate.

Barnstorming 

  
Give me a story that just makes me unreasonably vigilant. Keep me up till five only because all your stars are out, and for no other reason...Oh, dare to do it, Buddy! Trust your heart. You’re a deserving craftsman. It would never betray you.

— _Seymour: An Introduction_

A bead of moisture trickles down the side of his neck, adding to the soaked-in sweat along the edge of the blouse that’s plastered to his back. Laying on a lumpy palliasse covered with heavily starched cotton, Joey grimaces in discomfort, for the rolled sacks they’ve used as pillows are covered in a fine pilling that irritates his overheated skin. He can’t move around too much, lest he wishes to suffer the wrath of the assistant director standing by, so he fidgets his fingers and toes as they wait for the sound grips to get their shit together. _Any bloody moment now._

They’re filming in a dilapidated barn near the studio in Arborfield with a stifling humidity hanging in the air, weighing everyone down, so much that no one really notices when someone drops their equipment and a loud clatter echoes up into the roof beams. Joey blows out a breath and purses his lips. _If we could just get through this day. This scene. Jesus, fuck. It’s fine. Tip top, really._

“He needs more. Bring as much as you can find,” a gritty baritone voice projects across the room. Joey startles so violently it’s as if he’s suffered a seizure. He peeks over the ruffled blanket, his gaze landing on Henry who’s standing next to a lighting technician and gesturing to a production assistant with a roll of gaffer tape in hand. Joey feels a stirring in his chest, observing open and unabashed as Henry transforms into Geralt. His white hair is loose and neatly combed, a billowy cambric shirt hanging long and limp over a pair of cotton braies. _Soft and warm, bouncing naked into a pile of fresh linen, like a sexy advert for fabric conditioner. Fucking cock, I need help._

Of course, Henry chooses that moment to flex his hairy calves, standing on tiptoes to stretch. Raising his arms over his head, his shirt bunches at the shoulders, riding high enough that his shapely, muscular bum is revealed. Joey sighs, cursing the arousal that thrums through his belly. Henry turns his head, flashing a wicked smile over his shoulder, his way of signaling to Joey that he’s _aware._

Finally, before his entire face flushes with heat, the director calls for everyone to take their places. Joey stares at the marker on the roof beam above him and gulps. _Please, please let me get through this while my cock is still behaving._

Silence fills the air and he waits, listening to his own heartbeat pulsing in his ears. The camera assistant announces the scene, take, and angle and then the clapperboard snaps shut with a finality that tells his brain that he is no longer anxiously aroused Joey, but Jaskier, who’s surprised at Geralt’s early return from a wedding and feeling particularly keyed up in their private room, enough to at least poke and prod at him.

Geralt grabs the covers and slides quickly underneath, flopping down on his side, his back to Jaskier. “Move over,” he grouses in that familiar gritty tone. Jaskier turns on his side, facing Geralt, head leaning in his hand, propped up by his arm. He cracks a roguish smile.

“Well that was fast. I sincerely hope you saw to her needs as well? You know I’ll find out if you didn’t. Essi tells me everything.” Geralt huffs.

“Nothing happened,” he grunts. Jaskier’s mouth falls open, blue eyes wide in shock. He makes an affronted noise.

“All night. _All night,_ Geralt, the way she looked at you. You did see how she looked at you, yes? And you, well, pfft, you looked like you wanted nothing more than to make her sing a pretty song, the prettiest of songs, Geralt. You know, the one from her private repertoire?” He waggles his eyebrows in emphasis. Geralt scowls while making a rumbling noise deep in his chest.

“She’s...too young.” Jaskier raises his head, using his arm to scoot closer to Geralt.

“I’m sorry?” He asks in utter incredulity. Geralt frowns.

“Wants too much. Better this way.” Jaskier’s voice turns low and muffled at the edges.

“You turned her down.” Geralt grunts affirmatively. Jaskier scoffs in disgust.

“Oh, I see how it is. How rare a thing, Geralt. Someone you desire wants to show you love and affection, and not because you slipped them a few crowns, but because they simply desire you in return. I mean, the tension was palpable. If only you could have seen yourself. Just picture it: Little Eye crying out for the White Wolf. The White Wolf _howling_ for Little Eye.” Jaskier sighs dramatically.

“But, you rejected her. And for what? Some inane sense of chivalry that you’ve convinced yourself of? Essi isn’t a helpless child, Geralt. She’s strong. She can take care of herself.” Geralt’s eyes are shut tight, breathing careful and even through his nose, forcing himself to calm down. 

“She wasn’t interested in me. She was...interested in what I am. I will not give rise to the morbid curiosity of some street performer. I don’t care if she’s your friend.” Jaskier swallows, looking down at the covers as if deciding something and then returns his gaze to the back of Geralt’s head, as if he’s suddenly seeing him in a new light.

“This is about Yennefer, isn’t it?” He asks softly. Geralt grumbles.

“Go to sleep, bard,” he says with no real heat.

“It must be. You can’t let go, so you chasten yourself from a night of pleasure…” he tuts. “Fret not, however,” he advises with acid on his tongue. “I’m certain she’s pining away for you, living a life of celibacy out of some sick sense of guilt. Of course that’s how it is.” Geralt growls, louder now.

“Go the fuck to sleep!” He commands angrily. Jaskier stares, quiet for a moment. Geralt shuts his eyes again, letting his breath even out.

“Oh, I know,” says Jaskier in that same low, dangerous voice. “Now I know everything!” Geralt’s upper lip curls.

“You know fuck all, Jaskier,” Geralt declares coolly. Jaskier gets up higher on his arm, towering over Geralt’s back to look at the side of his face.

“Oh, but I do, Geralt. You’re here instead of with Essi for the same reason I’m not with Vespula.” His voice grows more passionate. “The same reason you were miffed at me for disappearing with those mummers instead of staying with you to drink and play Gwent.” Geralt roars, flipping around and placing a hand in the middle of Jaskier’s chest to push him back. He goes down, but his arm catches his landing.

“Go. To. Sleep,” Geralt shouts, eyes bright and wild, a bit of spittle spraying from his mouth. Jaskier holds his stare, face mere inches apart.

“Make me,” he hisses. Geralt continues to glare at him, breath harsh and loud, ruffling Jaskier’s hair. They’re on the precipice of _something_ and Jaskier _wants_ more than he ever has. His cock positively weeps under the bedding and Geralt looks as though he’s about to snap, and _oh Melitele,_ how he wants to be taken, face pressed into the bed with Geralt’s body curled over him, hot skin sticking together as he rams his massive cock into Jaskier’s waiting hole.

“Cut!” The director yells. Joey watches the light fade from Henry’s eyes, reeling himself back into the present. Joey bites his lip and looks down at his hands. A cough rings out in the distance. “Uh, yeah a—ah, a little too intense and drawn out.”

“Yeah, okay,” Henry acknowledges. The director nods once and then waves his hand in the direction of the camera crew.

“Alright, set up for take two, please.” His eyes flit back and forth between Henry and Joey before he purses his lips and breathes deep through his nose.

“It’s warm in here. Get some water,” he advises Henry with a fond slap to his shoulder. He then turns, pointing directly at Joey. “Can someone please mop him up? He’s sweating everywhere.”

* * *

 _Take two._ They cut it right before Joey can say “make me.” “Uh, better,” the director tells them, “but not where it needs to be. Keep dialing it back alright?”

 _Take three._ Progress is made, at least. Henry shoves the pillow at him and flips over, forcefully punching his own pillow to fluff it out and then settling down with a huff.

 _Take four._ “It’s a shove, not a caress. You’re pissed off, Henry, so push him like you mean it.”

_Take five._

The director calls the scene and they wait for feedback, but it never comes. There seems to be some sort of confusion as the director and Lauren speak in hushed tones off to the side. Henry leaves but quickly returns with more water, holding out a cup for Joey. They exchange a long look while drinking and Henry’s hand twitches next to his. Joey thinks about lacing their fingers together, but he won’t. 

“Alright everyone, heat’s getting worse so we’re gonna see about getting some fans in here to cool it down. Let’s pause for lunch and we’ll pick back up at the end of the hour.” The director walks up to the palliasse and points a finger down at the pair.

“You two, stay,” he commands. Joey feels like he’s being chastised by a headmaster. Henry places a hand over his mouth to hide his grin.

The click of boot heels grabs their attention. Lauren strides up to them, lifting her chin in greeting. She puts a hand on her cocked hip and waits for the crew to power down the equipment and then shuffle out of their immediate vicinity. With the lights off and most of the crew gone, the air thins out into something more bearable. Joey sighs, relishing the slight breeze that comes from the opened doors.

Lauren clears her throat, staring down at Henry, looking anything but amused.

“Yes?” He asks with a arched eyebrow.

“Stop it. You’re wasting everyone’s time.”

“Erm, we are? I thought the last take went well, no?” She crosses her arms and sighs, glancing over at Joey and then back to Henry. She chuffs, shaking her head. Joey looks down, fiddling with the stitching at the wrist of his shirt sleeve.

Lauren sighs in frustration and shakes her head. “You boys,” she admonishes under her breath. “Okay, when we resume, I’ll have them roll playback for you and you’ll see what I’m talking about, alright?”

“Of course, yes, please,” says Henry with a bewildered expression on his face. Joey continues to stare up into the roof beams. Lauren nods and without another word she dashes towards the open doors, out into the sticky, humid atmosphere. Joey listens to her retreating form, waiting until he can no longer hear the click of her boot heels before exhaling heavily and then abruptly turning over to round on Henry.

“This is your fault, you arse!” He shrieks. Henry bursts out in laughter as Joey smacks his bicep.

“Ouch! That hurt, love,” Henry wheezes out amid his laughter.

“Yes, and you know what else hurts? Being edged all goddamn morning with no relief and then having to lay in this...this fucking, whatever this is, and act like everything’s tickety fucking boo—“

“Well, you are supposed to be frustrated, both of us are. In the book—“

“Oh my—I _know_ that, but you don’t think I’m just a bit over prepared? Henry, we basically just fucking lied to Lauren. ‘Ooh, yes, sorry dear, we’d no idea we were eye fucking on camera.’” Henry frowns and tries to lace their fingers together, but Joey pulls away and crosses his arms.

“I’m sorry,” Henry pouts. “Is it really bad?” Joey glances around, making sure everyone has left before throwing off the covers and pulling down his shorts.

“See for yourself,” he moans, throwing a shameful arm over his eyes. Henry inhales sharply at the sight of Joey’s hard cock, leaking heavily and flushed an angry red. Scrambling to his feet, he jogs over to the barn door. “Where’re you going?” Joey calls out to him.

“Stay there,” Henry commands. Joey huffs, watching Henry walk away until he’s out of sight. The thought of taking his own walk to try and calm both body and mind sounds rather appealing, but just as he’s about to get up and leave, Henry returns, sliding the barn door shut behind him. 

“Henry?” Joey prompts in slight trepidation, watching as he slithers up the palliasse with a smirk. It’s the exact face he makes when he has _a plan,_ Joey realizes. “Oh no, we can’t—“

“Shh, yes we can,” Henry murmurs, easing Joey’s shorts off so he can hook Joey’s thighs over his shoulders. “Everyone’s gone away, probably since it’s about to piss it down in a moment.” Joey whines in agony as Henry licks a soothing stripe up the length of his cock.

“Nnng. Someone’ll come looking for us.” Henry growls impatiently.

“Don’t worry about it, love. All you need to think about is coming down my throat. Can you do that?”

Joey groans, falling back on the palliasse. He lays there, arms spread wide, clutching at the sheets as Henry sucks him with an eager mouth, fist working the base. He whimpers and shakes and pants as Henry finds a rhythm in the stroke of his hand and the probing of his tongue.

A gentle pitter-patter of raindrops falls upon the sheet metal roofing, producing a faint tinny sound, but Joey’s unaware, focused is he on gritting his teeth to keep quiet. The last thing he wants is for everyone to know the way he sounds when he’s flying apart. His chest heaves, toes curling into the palliasse as he bucks his hips, cock hitting the back of Henry’s throat.

“Fuck, sorry!” He gasps, but instead of letting up, Henry swallows him down further, using his other hand to gently massage his balls. It builds and builds, until he’s at the precipice, needing just a little more to tip the scales.

He bites his lip in a good faith effort to muffle his cries and it’s as though the gods take mercy on his suffering because in that very moment, the heavens part to storm the barn in a heavy blast of rain.

“Oh fuck,” he sobs, “there, yeah…mmm, He-nuhh _-god!_ Henry, I’m—“

Joey arches up, spending into Henry’s waiting mouth, reveling in the way he works him through his orgasm, diligent to the very end while broken moans and keening cries are lost among the roaring tempest.

Henry releases him with a pop as he collapses, boneless, against the sheets. Throwing an arm over his eyes, Joey laughs deliriously as he catches his breath.

“And just what is so funny, love?” Henry inquires between soft kisses to Joey’s torso, making his way up to his lips.

“I can’t believe we just did that.” Henry lifts Joey’s arm away from his face to look into his eyes, grinning.

“You loved it.” Joey averts his gaze.

“Might’ve,” he mumbles. Henry rubs their noses together, chuckling.

“You’re feeling better then?”

“Mmm, gods yes,” Joey trills in satisfaction, only to change gears abruptly thereafter. “This morning though?” He muses, rhetorically, with narrowed eyes. “I’m never letting you do that again!” He boops Henry’s nose as if to emphasize his point.

Henry ducks his head, snickering. Joey lifts his chin, bringing their lips together for a gentle kiss, but of course it turns into a fervid, desperate thing and suddenly he’s all too aware of Henry’s cock laying stiff and untouched between them. Joey reaches down, gliding his hand under Henry’s braies to take hold of him.

The sound of Henry’s hissing breath, his sweet sighs and deep, blissful moans seep into Joey’s heart, making it tender and achy, fit to burst. He wraps his arms snug around Henry’s torso and brings their foreheads together, breathing, feeling each other, savouring the moment. _Say it. Fucking say it now._ With a shaky exhale, the words he’s been holding at bay slip effortlessly from him.

“I love you,” Joey declares against Henry’s mouth and with his eyes firmly shut, he feels rather than sees a pair of lips curling upward.

“Look at me, please,” Henry purrs. Joey shakes his head.

“It’s—you don’t have to say it back, darling, I just wanted to tell you now because—“

“Joey, open your eyes.”

“I can’t. Your, erm, the contacts, they throw me off.” Henry chuffs.

“Joey, please,” he all but begs, so Joey carefully lets one eye flicker open and then the other. “I love you too,” Henry professes. Joey pecks him on the mouth, bringing their foreheads together again. 

“Will you tell me again, later? When you look like yourself?” 

“Mm, yes but I wouldn’t get your hopes up. I might be stuck as Geralt forever if we don’t get this right.”

“Hm, but I’m thinking we go home, open that bottle of scotch that’s been sitting on your kitchen table, get you all nice and relaxed,” Joey murmurs all breathy and sultry-like. Henry raises an eyebrow in interest. “And then, while we’re on the sofa, watching _Lord of the Rings,_ I sort of just...bend you over the arm rest and open you up nice and slow…” Henry groans, his cock twitching urgently. “...with my tongue,” Joey whispers into his ear. “Then you can tell me you love me, over and over again.”

The barn door starts to unlatch, forcing them to stand and make themselves presentable.

“Well, what says you?” asks Joey, smoothing his clothes into place. Henry fixes him with a heated look.

“I say we stop wasting everyone’s time here, no?” Joey smirks.

“My thoughts exactly.”


	2. Handfasting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joey is hurt, but he's not the one who needs taking care of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first and last time I will be writing in Henry's perspective. It was too difficult having to stay within my rule of no internal monologue because that is not his style. He does not dwell. He generally does not think before he acts on something. He is avoidant/detached when faced with problems. Shall I go on? JFC he is my worst nightmare. I love him, but Joey's thoughts, I need them. I need that sassy goofball. 
> 
> Honestly, I am considering writing another version of this from Joey's perspective someday because I think I missed the mark with this. It's not what I wanted for it, but I've spent way too long rewriting, letting it rest, rewriting some more, rinse and repeat. I wash my hands of it. 
> 
> To Darknessyuu: Here it is! I'm SO sorry it took forever and I know it's not exactly what you were looking for, but I hope you'll still enjoy it.

Handfasting

Raise high the roof beam, carpenters. 

Like Ares comes the bridegroom, 

taller far than a tall man.

— Sappho LP 111 (from _Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters)_

It’s an audacious maneuver, the way he zings through the roundabout at Arborfield Cross faster than he has any right to. He’s sure to have rattled a few sleepy-eyed farmers on their way to the pub after a long day’s work, but they’re probably in need of a second wind anyway, he reasons. Turning onto the road that will take him into Reading, the rolling countryside, endlessly viridescent, becomes a framework for muddled thoughts...

_The day had been little more than average, the highlight being his invitation to sneak on set and watch the scene where Rience tortures Jaskier for information. Henry, as it became clear, was ill-prepared for such a heartrending experience, watching Joey cry out and whimper and spit angrily as the wire riggers hoisted him progressively higher, creating the illusion of Rience using his magic to pull on the ropes around Jaskier’s arms, adding more and more pressure as his feet lift from the ground._

_Henry sat in the back, hunched in his director’s chair, absently turning the pages of his script as Joey screamed again. At that point, Henry wondered if Joey actually was in pain, having to perform this particular bit several times over as the crew became indecisive about the camera angles. Flipping back to the correct page, Henry mouthed the lines as they were spoken._

_“Listen to me you little debonair piece of shit,” said Rience. “I lift the spell and then you speak. Raise your voice more than necessary and you’ll never sing again, do you understand?”_

_It happened quickly, as accidents are wont to do. A noise like the striking of hollow metal, a loud thud, instant commotion overlaid with the director hollering to cut the camera, and Henry, not being one to hesitate, had instantly sprung from his chair, pushing past a sea of technicians and assistants._

He grips the steering wheel, hanging his head while letting out an irritated breath. Another roundabout, and this time he’s met with a lorry and several other vehicles, which forces him to slow down as they weave along the crossing. He looks on at an elderly man walking with one of those dogs that look like a mop, but that’s not what holds his attention. It’s the cigarette hanging from the man’s mouth. He plucks it away and a large plume of smoke exits. Henry sighs and, _oh lord,_ he hasn’t craved like this in ages, years most likely. 

Smoking had been a casual thing, picked up during his bartending days, and one that almost exclusively involved several fingers of whiskey or scotch. It was his fervent opinion that, other than good sex, there was nothing else like it, the tingly buzz of tobacco mixed with the slaphappy rush of alcohol in his veins. Regardless, he had kicked the habit for good when the Warner Brothers contract came around. 

_But sometimes..._

...rarely if ever, these days, and only in very specific circumstances (but never because of worry because that’s useless, worrying, especially when everything is fine and completely, totally under control)...

...a need like no other will set fire to his veins, and he will jones...and jones and jones and...

...someone is blasting their horn behind him. 

_Shit._

Slamming his foot on the pedal, he accelerates in a severe jolt, speeding into the blurred pastoral once again. 

_He had fallen to his knees at once, gently cradling Joey’s head. Around them, there was commotion, activity, panic, but Henry did his best to shield his lover from unnecessary stimuli. He leaned down, his forehead almost but not quite touching Joey._

_“I’m here. I’m here, love. Focus on me, nothing else. Stay here with me.”_

_He was quiet, eerily so, Joey was, laying curled up on his side, pale, shaking, disoriented._

_“Why...I’m on the floor? Henry?”_

_Joey tried to roll over, move away, but Henry, concerned that he might injure himself further, gently kept hold of him as Joey proceeded to vomit all over the floor, not even realizing it was seeping into his leather trousers._

_Someone, or rather multiple someones, had to drag Henry away by the arms. He shrugged them off, watching as the medics flocked like birds to Joey’s aid, and then Anya had swooped in, her long hair whipping him in the chest._

_“I’ll stay. I won’t leave him. I promise. Wardrobe. Go. Now!”_

On his way into Reading, Henry abruptly slams on the brakes, swerving into a petrol station tucked between a cluster of shops along the motorway. His reckless driving guarantees him a few judgmental looks, but he pays them no mind. Running a hand through his sticky, sweaty hair, he plucks his beanie from the dash, sliding it over his head before stepping out. 

_The wig was the worst part. Normally, it took half an hour to remove and that was time he just didn’t have at that moment. Jacqui frowned at his blatant agitation, the ceaseless bouncing of his leg and the exasperated sighs he made every five seconds while rapidly texting back and forth with Anya. Midway through, she decided she had enough and flicked at his ear with her finger, causing him to flinch._

_“Sit still. You’re worked up and if you don’t settle down I’ll take your mobile.”_

_Henry huffed and, without hesitation, held it over his shoulder for her take. He knew he wouldn’t obey otherwise. She worked as quickly as she could, but every moment that went by added additional strain. In an effort to assuage him, she recalled how excellent the stunt medics were when Lucy fractured her wrist during Mission Impossible._

_He gripped his thighs in frustration, wondering how that situation was even remotely similar to Joey’s. She was barely in pain, not to mention coherent the entire time, and the medics weren’t even from the same company. Henry clenched his teeth and the muscle in his jaw jumped. Fed up, he slapped his hands against his knees and growled low in his throat._

_Jacqui stared at him in the mirror, incredulity written in her expression. She swatted him on the shoulder, forcing him to calm until finally the last piece of tape was out of his hair. He stood up at once, but instead of moving over to the sink for a wash, he patted down his pockets, making sure he had his keys. As he reached his hand out for his phone, Jacqui placed her hands on her hips._

_“You can’t be serious. Your hair’s a right mess.”_

_He kissed her forehead in a placating gesture and she scoffed, but just as well reached into her apron for his mobile, shoving it at him. The trailer door banged shut before she could even blink._

* * *

The anticipation in his gut is so severe that he has to stop and gather himself several times before entering A&E. A nurse escorts him through the double doors with a fond smile that he fails to notice, intent as he is on scanning through the row of partitioned beds, some with the curtains drawn, others empty. 

He finds Joey at the end of the row, laying with Anya perched at his side, holding him in her arms, one hand petting his hair as she speaks quietly to him. She whispers something in his ear and his eyes flutter open. Henry swallows reflexively, his throat uncomfortably tight from the way Joey lights up at his presence. 

“That was quick. How many goats did you run over on your way here?” Anya jests. Henry ignores her, preoccupied instead with Joey’s flushed cheeks, a far cry from the ashen pallor of before. 

“You…” he clears his throat uncomfortably, “look like you’re feeling better,” he proclaims, coming to sit at the edge of the bed. Reaching out to entwine their hands, he notes that Joey’s grip is tight and reassuring. 

“Heaps better,” He affirms. “Still a bit headachey, but apparently that’s normal when you’ve gone and done yourself a concussion.” Henry frowns.

“You didn’t _do_ anything, love. A block broke from the rigging and smacked you in the head.” Joey shrugs, conceding. 

“Even so, from what Anya’s said, production’s fucked for the next few days and Lauren’s having a conniption because they won’t sack anyone from special effects without investigating first.” Henry glares at Anya.

“Thank you, for troubling him with that, as if he hasn’t got enough to deal with at the moment.” 

“He’s the one who asked for the details!” Anya squeaks in outrage. 

“Darling, it’s alright,” Joey placates, “honestly, I’m feeling much better and the doctor said as long as I relax for the next week I’ll be fine. I even got a brain scan thingy in a tube to make sure.” 

Henry’s relieved exhale is nothing short of dramatic. 

“Alright, love,” he yields, giving Joey’s hand one more squeeze before letting go. 

With a pointed look towards Anya, Henry wordlessly conveys his wish for privacy. She lifts her head in acknowledgement, but then Joey, completely unaware, turns and asks if she’s heard about what happened to Angela from wardrobe. 

“Oh my god, yeah, I did! How scandalous is that?” Anya responds enthusiastically.

Henry facepalms because he truly couldn't care less about what happened to Angela from wardrobe because when has something _not_ happened to her? Henry barely ever sees the woman, as she’s not in charge of his clothes, but between Joey, Anya, and Freya, he’s heard enough about her life to write a biography. 

Henry looks down at Joey’s blanketed feet, considering. He places his hand on Joey’s ankle in a way that makes it seem absent minded. That is, until his fingers curl around the delicate skin of his Achilles’ tendon, massaging gently. The moan Joey lets out can only be described as obscene. 

“Joey!” Anya giggles. “We’re in hospital, remember?” 

Henry rubs harder. 

“Oh fuck,” he whimpers. “Oh, Christ, that feels so good.” Anya jumps to her feet. 

“Oof. Okay then. I think that’s my cue.” She kisses Joey on the cheek. “Text me later tonight, hm? Let me know how you’re getting on?” Joey reaches out to take her hand. 

“No screens for the next 72 hours,” says the nurse who pops in from behind the curtain to take down his vitals. 

“Eh, yeah that’s lovely, erm, so can I leave now?” Joey inquires, releasing Anya from his grasp. 

“Sorry, love, still waiting on your results,” she informs him dispassionately before disappearing again. Joey pulls a face. 

“No screens? Well that’s a load of bollocks.” Henry shoots him a wary look and then turns to Anya. 

_“I’ll_ text when we get back,” he assures her. She snickers, gathering her coat and purse. 

“Guess it’s settled then.” Joey groans, dropping back in the bed. 

As soon as she’s through the curtain, Henry slides closer to Joey. He’s still hanging off the edge, far too big to fit the way Anya did, but close enough to caress Joey’s face with a tender touch. 

“Well hello,” murmurs Joey. Henry places a lingering kiss to his fringe and then gently rests their heads together. 

“Hi,” he croaks. Joey bumps their noses and opens his mouth to say something, only to quickly close it and sniff at the air. 

“I smell _...cigarette?_ Oh fuck, doesn’t that happen when you’re about to, I dunno like stroke out? Henry!” 

“Calm down. You’re not imagining it.”

“Oh, erm...why…?” Henry sighs loudly, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes to rub out the exhaustion. 

“Oh darling dearest,” Joey murmurs in a low voice that weighs heavy with concern. “I gave you quite the scare, didn’t I?” Henry brings Joey’s hand to his mouth.

“It’s alright,” he breathes against his finger tips before pressing a tiny kiss to each, letting the guitar calluses catch on his lips. “Everything is alright.” Joey releases a shuddering breath. 

“Come here,” he cries. Henry cradles his face, runs his thumb along soft, rounded cheeks, gazes into those seawater eyes as he rubs their noses together affectionately. 

Joey claims that his features are quite plain, that he lacks any striking sort of beauty that defined the conventional, but Henry had never been much for convention, especially since that was the message society at large liked to inundate him with. _You’re gorgeous. Every man wants to look like you.You could have anyone._ Yes, but he doesn’t want _anyone._ He wants Joey, lean and tall with his well-knit limbs and compact torso, his wide chin and forehead, his rounded jaw and thin, pouty lips. 

Speaking of thin, pouty lips, Henry licks at them, sneaking his tongue inside to gently circle Joey’s, swallowing the whimpers and gasps breathed into his mouth. When they break, Henry buries his face in Joey’s neck. He wants nothing more than to wrap his arms around him, to really feel him, but the bundle of wires peeking from the top of his gown is a deterrent. 

“Erm, this might hurt when they take it off,” Henry mutters, gesturing to the electrodes stuck to his chest. Joey glances down and tries to lift the gown up higher. 

“Cock, look at me, sitting here with my tits on display.” Henry snorts out a laugh and rolls his shoulders back and forth, stretching them. 

“You’re exhausted,” Joey laments while Henry continues to try and relieve the tightness in his muscles. 

“I’m fine. You, on the other hand, are going straight to bed when we get home.” He looks up to see Joey resting with his eyes shut, a smile on his lips. 

“Mm, but takeaway first, yeah? I’m starving and I _know_ you barely ate today.” Henry begins massaging his temples. 

“You know I can’t. I’ll buy for you, but I have to eat something from the kit.” Joey frowns. 

“But, darling, today was absolute shit. You deserve to eat something other than kale or the like.” Henry shakes his head.

“I can’t, love.” 

Joey grumbles, but let’s the issue rest for a moment, taking hold of Henry’s hand to sweep his thumb along the knuckles. He stills and tilts his head to the side in a cheeky look, batting his long eyelashes for effect. 

“I know you chain smoked in the car park before coming here, so you’re already having a one-off. Why not add a pizza for good measure?”

Oh how he _hates_ when Joey turns into a sassy little shit, mainly because his cock loves it and that can be quite the distraction when he’s looking to maintain a sense of tenacity. 

He narrows his eyes in an effort to strengthen his resolve, but then Joey’s ugly, little hospital gown slips again and he starts to shiver, looking like a kicked puppy with his downcast eyes and quivering lips. 

As if that isn’t enough to persuade him, the nurse yanks open the curtain, walks right up to Joey and starts to remove the sticky electrode pads from his chest. 

“OUCH!” He shrieks. “Fucking...cock, can you at least be gentle? Those are my hairs you’re pulling out!” The nurse tuts at him, ignoring his pained plea. 

Henry contemplates what topping he’d like for his pizza.   
  


* * *

A curl of smoke escapes Henry’s chilled lips, languishing in a beam of light that engulfs the entire patio. He’s just flipped the page of his book when the sliding glass door whirls open and a rambunctious Kal shoots into his lap like a bullet. 

“Agh! Settle down,” he orders. Kal whines until Henry scratches him behind the ears and gives him a few good pats before sending him off into the grass. Glancing over his shoulder, he finds Joey standing at the threshold, bundled from head to toe in the down comforter that normally lays atop their bed. 

“Did you remember to text Anya and Madeleine?” He asks groggily, flicking the sleep from his eyes. 

“I did. They send their love,” Henry assures him with a smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. Turning away, he takes a long draught from a bottle of Guinness and settles in to resume his chapter. He’s about halfway through the page when suddenly his lap is met with a heavy lump of goose feather. Henry tuts in annoyance, but places his book down anyway, wrapping his arms around Joey to steady him. 

“Okay,” Joey says in all seriousness, head popping out from the fluffy blob to rest in the crook of Henry’s neck. “You've got to tell me what’s wrong and don’t say bloody ‘nothing’ because I know it isn’t.” Henry takes a deep breath, encouraging his shoulders to stay relaxed. He stares into the distance, the harsh contrast of the floodlight turning it into nothing more than a dark, depthless void. 

“Oh cock, wait, let me just...” trails Joey, who scuttles back inside the house. The lights switch off and Henry blinks, adjusting from pitch black to a soft moonlit glow. Joey drops into his lap once again. “There we are. No bright lights, remember?” 

“I was using it to read,” Henry explains drily. Joey chuffs. 

“Why not use a torch or lantern or something?” 

“It’s not enough.” 

“Eh, yeah, well that’s because you need your glasses, dear.” Henry’s reaction is visceral. He jerks his face from Joey, shaking his head, grumbling. 

“Erm...darling?” 

“You should go back to sleep,” Henry suggests coolly. Joey reaches a hand out from his cocoon to cup his cheek, the heat from his palm instantly soothing Henry’s freezing skin. 

“Not happening. You’ve brooded out here for hours. I’m not moving until you talk. ” Henry grabs his beer, downing the rest of it in one go. Joey groans inwardly. 

“Darling, _please,”_ he purrs. “I can’t help if I don’t know what’s wrong.” Henry looks up, staring into limpid irises. 

“Joey, you’re concussed. You should be resting right now. I’ll be fine. I promise.” 

“What do you think I’ve been up to this entire time? Now tell me what’s going on in that beautiful head of yours.” Henry closes his eyes and lets out an angry growl that ends in a sigh of resignation. 

“It’s foolish,” he whispers after a few beats, voice barely audible. His fingers subconsciously touch the silver at his temples, the near imperceptible lines around his eyes. Joey’s breath catches in his throat, waits for him to elaborate, but he’s not forthcoming. 

“Darling,” he coos, trepidatiously. “Is this about you turning forty soon?” Henry’s eyes flutter in annoyance. 

“Yes,” he whispers tartly. Joey cups his cheek, petting softly with his thumb. 

“Did what happened today have anything to do with it?” Henry winces. 

“I suppose it just reminded me of how life is fleeting and all that.” He swallows, letting out a tremulous breath. “I’m getting old, love.” Joey clings to him, the duvet falling down to his waist when he circles his arms around Henry’s shoulders. 

“I don’t agree,” he declares with a shake of his head. “You know I don’t. And if you’re old, then I’m ancient. Honestly, who’s the one that can’t go all night shagging without whinging about his back the next day?” Henry smiles half heartedly, not totally convinced. 

“Says the man who hasn’t got a speck of gray in his hair or a single crease on his face.” Joey’s mouth falls open. 

“You’re taking the piss, surely,” he says, disbelieving. Henry studies the cracks in the decking. Joey lifts his chin, thumb brushing along his eye to caress the tiny crow foot there. “Henry,” he breathes. “You are... _gods,_ but you’re aging like a fine wine. Honestly, you’re becoming quite the silver fox.” Henry shuts his eyes, exhales, flutters them back open. 

“Do you like it?” He whispers, all shuddery and bashful. Joey emits a salacious little hum. 

“Salt and pepper hair, glasses perched on the end of your nose, mmm, fuck me, I’m getting hard just thinking about it.” Henry looks askance. Joey takes his palm, running it down his stomach all the way to his rapidly filling cock. “See, darling?” Henry makes a noise in the back of this throat, sounding rather pleased. 

“Well I don’t see, but certainly do feel,” he explains with a seductive smirk. Joey grins and leans forward to fuse their lips together, licking enthusiastically into his mouth, tasting the tobacco and bitter hops on his tongue. He squeaks in surprise. “What is it?” Henry murmurs against his lips. Joey pulls back.

“Sorry, it’s the way you taste right now, it...well it reminded me of my uni days. That...gorblimey, that brings back memories. _Wow.”_ Henry smiles knowingly. 

“Is this your way of telling me I taste like all the blokes you shagged?” Joey blushes crimson. 

“Maybe,” he mutters, averting his eyes. Henry chortles. 

“So if that’s what the boys tasted like, I’m wondering about the girls.” 

“Pimm’s cup and flowery lip balm that reminded me of gran’s perfume. A godawful combination if you ask me,” Joey says without missing a beat. Henry raises his eyebrows. “Oh yes, there were a few lasses before I figured it all out. Strange times, university.” 

“I take it you don’t miss it?” Joey looks almost offended.

“Oh, not at all. Gods, thinking about it, I don't think I miss much of anything from my twenties.” He cups Henry’s face, leaning close. “Especially because I hadn't found my grumpy old man yet,” he sighs, pecking him on the lips. Joey smirks. “You know what they'd call you in Tyneside?” Henry tilts his head in question. Joey kisses along his neck, up to his ear, tickling his earlobe with his lips. “An aad radgie gadgie.” Henry lets out a breathy chuckle before pressing in for another kiss. They melt into it, a languid slide of tongues, feeling the depth of each other’s groans whilst Henry snakes his hand under Joey’s shorts to tease his cock. 

“Mm, are you going to call me that in bed, love?” Henry murmurs, acting coy. Joey smirks, playing along. 

“Only if you wear one of your ridiculous flat caps and call me your bonny lad.” They share a quiet whisper of a laugh, the space between them steamy with warm breath escaping into the frigid air. 

“How is it that you’ve made _me_ feel better,” says Henry, kissing Joey’s eyebrow, his jaw, “when it should be reversed?”

“Hmm, you’re right. Take me inside, darling. Heal me.” Henry grins. 

“Of course. I’m not a level 70 healer for nothing, love.” Joey face-palms and mouths the word ‘wow.’ 

“But first let me take care of this,” Henry gestures to his dirty, glue riddled hair, making Joey cringe.

“You better. I’ll kick off if that shit gets on the pillows.” 

* * *

From the doorway, Henry runs a towel through his hair and watches Joey lounging on the bed with Kal’s head in his lap, the duvet spread out underneath them. He’s holding a hand out in front of him, as if to size it up, while he fiddles around with his rings. Henry tilts his head curiously. 

“You’ve done that a lot lately,” he muses. Joey retracts his hand, hiding it in Kal’s fur.

“Huh? What do I do?”

“Toy with your rings. Are they uncomfortable?” If Henry had blinked, he would have missed the way Joey appeared caught out before schooling his features, shrugging apathetically. 

“It’s just something I do when I’m thinking is all. Otherwise I don’t even know they’re there.” Henry purses his lips, glancing at him skeptically before going to drape his towel over the radiator. 

“C’mon pig,” he says to Kal in an effort to shoo him from the room. “Oh yes, go ahead and whinge, as if you won’t be sleeping between us later.” Henry shuts the door, climbing onto the bed and then on top of Joey. 

“You’re nice and clean,” Joey sighs, wrapping his arms and legs around Henry who pulls him into a slow kiss, turning them on their sides while their tongues traverse each other in a lazy pattern. “And minty,” he murmurs, licking his lips. Henry grips the hem of Joey’s shirt, pulling it up and away. 

“Ooh it’s _still_ irritated,” Henry says under his breath, ghosting his fingers across the red bald patches on Joey’s chest where the electrodes once were. Joey bats his eyelashes and bites his lip. 

“And it hurts. Make it better?” Henry simpers, moving down to place open mouthed kisses along the red marks. Joey leans back and positively purrs. 

“Does that feel good?” Henry husks, swiping his tongue out to gently soothe. 

“It’s, ah, sensitive,” he shivers. Henry notices his nipples have stiffened into peaks, so he drags his tongue over them, scraping with his teeth. Joey’s eyebrows knit in pleasure, mouth falling open. 

_“Fuck,_ darling.” He reaches for Henry’s face, guiding him upward, claiming his mouth in a feverish kiss.

“Mmph, slow, my love,” rasps Henry in retreat. “You don't want to strain yourself.” Joey nods, pressing against him so they’re flush together. They continue to kiss and lick and bite, _slow,_ like Henry said, and then Joey slides his underwear down his legs, kicking them off. Leisurely, they rub against each other, cocks thickening, catching, weeping, sliding, spreading slick.

Henry slips his hand between them and he’s only just grazed along their shafts when a wanton moan escapes Joey and he thrusts powerfully into Henry’s grip. 

“If you could see yourself right now,” Henry husks adoringly, dragging his lower lip along the column of Joey’s neck. “Gorgeous.”

“I love you,” Joey trills. “I— _o-oh,_ darling I—“ 

Henry tightens his hand, stroking steadily. “What is it, love?”

“Nngh. Oh f-fuck, I—“ Joey keens, pupils blown wide with lust, mouth in a perpetual ‘o’. “Henry,” he says raggedly. “Haah, _gods,_ I want to make love so badly, please.” Henry groans, shivering violently, ripping the drawer out of his nightstand.“I don’t mean to be inconsiderate…” 

“Yes you do,” Henry says like it’s a matter of fact. Joey croaks out a laugh. 

“Yeah, yeah, alright, but I need you to work yourself open like _now._ Right fucking now, darling. So hurry it up!” Henry glares at him as he spreads lube on his fingers. 

“Oh so you’re on top? Hm, you’re sure that’s what you want?” Joey slaps his hand against the bed in impatience.

“Damnit, Henry. _Yes.”_ Henry reaches behind himself, smirking all the while. 

“Tell me why,” he demands. Joey stares defiantly at him, stroking his engorged cock while Henry fingers himself. “Tell me or I’ll stop. I swear I’ll do it.” Joey slings an arm over his eyes, sighing. 

“Because I have an extremely tight, stubborn little arse that can’t take your humongous cock without immense preparation,” he says in a monotone voice, as if it’s something he’s recited before. 

“Oh yes, that’s right,” Henry utters in a soft, smug voice, leaning over Joey to pour lube over his cock before straddling him. “You’re just not very good at relaxing yourself, but that’s alright because I am,” he explains as the head breaches him. “And even though you’re bigger _than me for Christ’s sake,”_ he winces, “I just relax, relax, _relax_ through the stretch,” he exhales deep and calm, “and then,” he seats himself completely with a serene expression. He cants his hips slightly, warming up to it and they both gasp in pleasure. 

“Thank you for your noble sacrifice,” Joey mutters in a single breath. Henry snorts. 

I shouldn’t give in to your impatience, but—“ Joey thrusts, unrestrained, proving Henry’s point. “I don’t think I can help it,” he grunts. 

“Good, now ride me. Make me come, darling.” Henry works himself on Joey’s cock, breath gusting harshly across his lover’s face as Joey’s hand creeps up, jerking him to full hardness once again. His head falls forward, hanging in pleasure. Slowly, oh so slowly, they climb towards their peak, staring into each other’s eyes. Joey holds onto Henry’s hand, lacing their fingers as grunts and groans and sighs spill from their mouths. 

It keeps that way,

for a while, at least. 

The air becomes thick with _something,_ Henry discovers, and Joey must feel it too because his lip starts to tremble and that usually doesn’t come until after. He squeezes their joined hands, bringing them to his mouth to kiss Joey’s knuckles. “Hold on,” he rumbles, rolling them over and lifting his arms and legs, trapping Joey between meaty thighs and biceps. 

“Do you want to stop?” Henry coos. Joey gives him a watery smile. 

“Never,” he whispers in reverence before rutting ever so gently as they breathe harshly against each other’s mouths. The change in angle makes Henry’s eyes roll back and suddenly he feels his orgasm looming on the horizon, but more than that, his chest blossoms with yearning, a terrible love sickness, if he had to put a name to it, and one that he can’t very well swallow back down. 

“I love you,” he declares, feeling it in his entire being as Joey’s tear drops fall against his cheeks, his nose, his eyelids. “I love you, songbird.” Joey gasps and then releases a fractious sob, his thrusts faltering. Henry grabs at his arse cheeks, guiding him. “I’m close, love,” he says. Joey shakes his head.

“Me too, but, _gods,_ Henry, I—I...” he trails off, keening. “I want…” He moans achingly and then starts to weep. Henry’s eyes snap open. 

“What do you need? Tell me,” he pants. Joey gets up on his knees, driving in deep. Henry pumps himself, plants his feet on the bed as it starts to flow through him, eyes falling closed, eyebrows knotted as he lets out a series of grunts.

“Oh dear heart,” Joey cries, “Henry, mmm, _FUCK,_ I want you to,” he gasps, “marry me!” Henry’s eyes snap open again to see Joey’s orgasm slam into him before he slumps forward, out of breath, releasing another sob. Henry lifts his face up, searching his eyes. He opens his mouth to speak but Joey cuts him off. “Yes, darling, yes I said it.” 

“Are you _proposing_ to me?” 

“Yes—no, I don’t, fuck, I don’t know,” he whines. “I just...I really want to be your husband. It’s all I think about half the time. That’s what I’m really doing, here, with this,” he pulls the signet ring off his left middle finger, moving it over to where his wedding band would go. Henry chokes on emotion, blinking. 

“Oh fuck, you—you’re _crying, darling._ Do you not—“ Henry quickly wipes his eyes, clearing his throat.

“How long, Joey? How long have you wanted it?“

“Well, I started thinking about it in L.A. and it...it sort of blossomed from there.” Henry runs a hand over his face. 

“Joey it’s _April_ now, why didn’t you—?” Joey throws his hands up.

“I was hoping you’d pick up on it.” 

“I thought…” Henry lowers his head. “The last thing I wanted was to pressure you into anything.” Joey clucks his tongue. 

“I’m not your aloof exes, dear. Bloody hell, I’ll be a kept man, a trophy husband, fucking locked in a cage, if it means I get to be Mr. Batey-Cavill.” Henry inhales sharply, heart fluttering, eyes prickling again. 

“I’m just...I’m—I’m shocked. This has...It’s like, I didn’t even think it was a possibility, at least not for a long while. He grabs Joey’s cheeks to better convey himself. “I’m serious, love. This is probably my first long-term relationship where I don’t already have rings picked out.” Joey rolls off of Henry. He plucks his shirt from the foot of the bed, using it to clean them off. 

“I should’ve waited. I should’ve planned something, or...I don’t know. I’m sorry, but I just had to say it. We...we can forget it if you want, blame it on the concussion.” Henry turns to him, taking his into his arms and kissing the living daylights out of him. 

“No, absolutely not. You are _not_ taking it back. I’m…” he shakes his head. “You don’t know how much it means to me, that you couldn’t wait.” They kiss sweetly and then Henry breaks away with hooded eyes. “I love you,” he whispers. Joey cuddles against him, running his fingers along the dips and ridges of his abdominals. He smiles. 

“I love you too, darling. And, just to be completely clear...you liked it, yes?” Henry gives a vigorous nod. Joey clears his throat in the way that Henry can tell he’s nervous. “So, then, erm, do you?” Henry places a finger under Joey’s chin, tipping it up. 

“Do I what?” Joey swallows hard. 

“I mean, will you marry me, darling? Will you be my husband?” Henry blinks more tears from his eyes. 

“Yes, my love, yes I will marry you.” Joey bites his lip. 

“Fuck, now I’m crying again,” he mumbles, wiping his face. They kiss through the tears until they’re laughing breathily against each other. Joey looks down as his fingers, tongue absently clicking on the roof of his mouth. He glances at Henry’s hands. “Mm, don’t think so,” he says under his breath, wiggling over to his nightstand. Henry listens as he starts to rustle through it, babbling to himself all the while. 

“Joey, what are you doing?” Henry asks in amusement. 

“Aha! Oh yeah, that’ll work.” Joey crawls back over, a yo-yo and a pair of scissors in hand. Henry purses his lips to keep from laughing as Joey slips the finger loop of the yo-yo string onto the appropriate finger, tightening it and then snipping off the end with the scissors. “There, it’s official.” Henry stares at him like he’s just hung the moon and then some. 

“You’re an absolute goofball and I’ve never been more in love with you,” Henry declares. Joey chuckles. 

“Are you never taking it off?” 

“Never.” 

“Wardrobe might have something to say about that.”

“Wardrobe can stuff it.” 

They cuddle for a little while longer, murmuring quietly, kissing, touching, making eyes at each other, and then Henry gives Joey a quick smooch before heading back into the shower. He listens as Joey putters around their room, readying himself for bed. Henry shuts off the water at the same time that Joey opens the bedroom door and then a moment later he hears him speaking softly to Kal. 

“It’s alright, love, you won’t have to think of me as dad if you don’t want, but it’s not been just the two of you for some time now, and that doesn’t seem to bother you, so maybe I’m already second daddy in your eyes?” Kal woofs happily. Henry grins, his heart turning to mush. 

He finds them on the bed, Joey under the covers, Kal on top of them, pressed tightly together as Joey pets along his fluffy coat, eyes drooping shut. Henry slips between the sheets, coming face to face with his furry companion. 

“Are you as chuffed as I am?” Kal sticks his tongue out, licking Henry’s cheek, causing him to squint as he laughs, teeming with a giddy sort of joy. 

“Yeah, I thought so.”   
  
He sleeps,

Joey's hand laced tightly in his own,

feeling ten years younger. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like to know what else I'm currently writing (one of which miiiight be a Geraskier Sherlock/Enola Holmes!AU) then come chat with me on [tumblr](https://margaretheavesasigh.tumblr.com/).


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